The Proposal
by D.KONE
Summary: Norway wants a divorce. Denmark doesn't and signs them up for a two week long counselling course. Marriage counselling fic with our resident country of love aka France as the therapist. Enjoy
1. The Divorce

**Disclaimer: Cover artwork no belong to me.**

**This is a fanfiction people. **_**Fan**_**fiction. A piece of fiction written by fans, for fans, based on an already existing and profit-making piece of fiction. I obviously don't make money out of this, unless I decide to go the Fifty Shades of Grey way (which was originally a Twilight fanfic).**

* * *

_Click._

'…bombings in Syria continue at a time- '

_Click._

'…when the African maned wolf is-'

_Click._

'…in love with a fairytale, even though-'

_Click._

'…heavy rain is forecasted-'

_Click._

'…legend-wait for it-_dary_-'

_Click._

Denmark gave a frustrated groan and switched off the TV with a brutal finality, tossing the remote away carelessly. He had had a difficult day at work, he was tired, there was nothing interesting to watch, and life was_ boring._

Boring.

Boring wasn't a word that he would use to describe himself, neither was it a word he thought he would ever _need_ to describe his life. He was supposed to be one of the happiest nations on earth - if not the happiest - full of humour and vigour and the sort of brash liveliness that was always associated with frat parties and lots and lots of alcohol.

Flopping down on the couch and letting his eyes fall shut on their own, Denmark wondered exactly how and when everything in his life became so _still_.

He woke half an hour later to the sound of the front door opening and shutting, followed by footsteps. Only one other person apart from him had the key.

_Nor_, he thought idly, shifting in his place to get more comfortable. They'd been married for what, thirty years now?

_Thirty six,_ he corrected himself, allowing the much desired lull of sleep claim him once again, when-

'Denmark.'

He sighed inwardly and grunted back. 'Hmm?'

There was the sound of something being dropped on the table; going by the rustle of paper hitting wood, it probably was paperwork or some shit – they had been bringing their work home a lot lately.

'I want a divorce.'

Denmark cracked open a bleary eye to his husband's blank stare.

'Huh?'

'I want a divorce,' Norway reiterated.

He cracked open another bleary eye. 'Come again?'

'I want a divorce. It's the last time I'm repeating it, so heaven help you if you can't register it after three times' worth saying.'

Denmark slowly sat up and stifled a yawn, trying to rub the last vestiges of his (sadly destroyed) sleep away from his eyes.

'Uh, why?'

Norway simply shrugged as the Dane curiously picked up one of the papers from the table – one of the divorce papers. 'I think we need a break.'

Denmark dropped the sheet, letting it float back to the table. 'What did I do?'

'It's not you, it's—'Norway exhaled lowly, pinching the bridge of his nose and sat down beside him.

'It's you?' Denmark laughed and turned to the other, slowly tilting him back. 'Don't give me _that _old bullshit, hon. But seriously. What did I do?'

'Surprising though it may be, nothing. It's simply just not working out.'

'What isn't?' Denmark was straddling him now, his hand trailing leisurely up and down his thigh, occasionally skirting around to cup his ass. He dipped down to the Norwegian's mouth, not close enough for a kiss, but close enough to feel his breath and his heartbeat, dropping his voice to a low husky whisper. 'The sex?'

The sex? Who was he kidding; they weren't even really intimate any more. Even the morning goodbye kiss as they left for work was reduced to a hurried press of lip against lip, just a ritual, an obligation, a duty they as a married couple had to fulfill to say_ I will come home to you tonight_.

In hindsight, he should have seen a demand for separation coming sooner or later.

Norway swallowed involuntarily, trying to gather his scattered thoughts together. Sure, he wanted to part ways, but his traitorous body still stirred to Denmark's _that_ voice. '_It_ isn't. Everything.' He waved his hand in that elegant way of his to stress his point. 'Everything. You. Me. This house. This…life that we share.'

'Norwegian TV,' Denmark muttered, still not moving away.

Norway simply raised an eyebrow and decided to let it pass. For the time being. 'The point is I believe we should take a break. Take time off.'

'But a _divorce_, Nor?'

'I've been thinking for a while and I deem it best.'

He sat back on his heels, still straddling him. 'What if I don't?' He asked stubbornly, looking into Norway's dark eyes that reminded him so much of the aurora borealis.

'Then you clearly are an idiot.'

'I thought I already was?'

'...I just want to be free.'

Free. Denmark tensed. Oh, it was a cruel argument Norway was using - referring back to their days as a union by demanding freedom, and they both knew it. They held each other's gazes for what seemed to stretch till eternity before Denmark sighed and got off. 'Dinner?'

A pause.

'And about the—?'

A sigh. 'Can I sleep on it?'

Norway gave a wry smile. 'Sure.'

Denmark returned his smile. 'Do you hate me, Norge?'

He seemed taken aback by the question. 'Do I hate you?'

'Yeah.'

There was another pause, longer than the last.

'No, not really.'

* * *

Norway took the couch that night.

Denmark lay awake in their king-sized bed, staring blankly at the ceiling and trying to search for answers.

How long had Norway been thinking about separation?

Was it really for the best, for the greater good?

What was _he_ going to do about it?

Denmark rolled onto his side.

He wasn't getting any sleep.

There on the dresser, stacked into a neat pile, were the clean white papers. They were almost luminescent in the moonlight, almost ghostly. On the top sheet was Norway's elegant signature; just one more and he'd have won.

But he wouldn't sign.

Or would he?

At least Norway didn't _hate_ him.

Denmark unconsciously clenched his fists. They should have got a dog or something. A cute one, which was white and fluffy, like Sweden and Finland had. Or maybe even adopted a kid. Something that they'd have tirelessly fought over, anything that'd have delayed the decision, and maybe even changed the outcome.

Denmark climbed out of bed. He wasn't breathing right. It was…either too fast, or too slow. He couldn't decide. The room was too warm. And there was something wrong with his arm. It felt…like it didn't belong to him. Alien. Numb. He needed to put it somewhere, around _someone._

So he was…_really_ tired. Admittedly he hadn't got much sleep the previous night either, but this time he was also fucking stressed.

Stressed over the future.

When exactly was the last time he's been stressed over the fucking future?

Slipping on a bathrobe, he exited the room and crept slowly downstairs. He reached the couch and moved a step forward, and then moved a couple of steps back for better observation. Norway was sleeping with his mouth slightly open and an arm hanging down, trailing the floor. He looked so peaceful, so vulnerable, and so, so beautiful in his own handsome way that Denmark toyed with the idea of _forcing_ him to stay, maybe even beating him into submission like he had back in the day, but dismissed, appalled with himself. He wasn't a monster, he had changed.

He really wanted Norway to stay. Because he was still in love with him, no matter what. Because the quieter nation understood him like none other.

And it was all about _understanding._

He crossed his arms and watched him sleep. Sure, his life had become boring and utterly stagnant, but Norway was still the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him.

Minutes turned to hours and the sun slowly crept over the horizon while he simply stood there and watched.

Norway was still the most interesting thing that had ever happened to him, and he sure as hell was not letting him go.

* * *

**Sometimes Norwegian TV gets a bit…slow. Like this one time everybody sat down to watch this show where they just showed a random fireplace. I don't even—**

**ANYWAY. This is just a prologue of sorts I'd written a long time back by . It's a bit dry and serious, but I'm just trying to set a background and things will pick up from the next chapter onwards, because takes over. c:**

**Guest reviews have been enabled.**

**Reviews, suggestions, criticisms etc are welcome. This is my first multi-chaptered Hetalia fic, so I would really like to know how this is actually turning out. owo So tell me?  
**


	2. The Country of Love

There was a dangerous silence.

'A what?' said Norway carefully, because even though he wasn't exactly twenty any more (both by human and nations standards), that did not mean that was old enough to start hearing things.

Denmark brandished the brochure at him. 'We,' he repeated cheerfully, 'are going on a marriage counselling course.'

Norway stared at the front of the brochure. A happy smiling couple walking hand in hand through some beautiful green grounds stared back at him.

'You have got to be joking.'

'I'm not. I'm dead serious.'

'And I am to believe you when you are "dead serious"?'

'Well _yeah_.'

'I have work, as do you. I certainly cannot go around gallivanting with you on some inane _counselling_ course.'

'Don't worry about that,' Denmark gave a sheepish grin. 'I already took care of it.'

Norway narrowed his eyes. 'Oh, did you, now?'

'Jep, I had my boss call your boss and tell him there was this really, really big emergency and so we needed time off today.'

'And what was this…really, really big emergency?'

'You got pregnant.'

Norway took one dangerous step with each word, cornering the other against a wall. 'I. Will. _End_. You.'

'Whoa, whoa,' Denmark raised his hands in surrender. 'It was a joke, man. Just because we don't have sex any more doesn't mean that you literally _and_ figuratively got to be so tight arsed all the time.'

_Smack_.

'Look,' Denmark sighed, nursing a growing bruise on his jaw. 'Just give this a chance. If things don't work out, I'll sign them papers and not be a dick about it. I promise.'

And that was how Norway found himself on the next flight to the Parisian airport of Charles de Gaulle from Kastrup.

Denmark was Denmark throughout the flight. He looked out of the window, pointed out ridiculous shapes in the clouds below, flirted with the French air hostesses complained about how the carbon footprints of most, if not all, modern aeroplanes was too damn big and how he would have happily cycled all the way to France had he not been so eager, and _finally_ fell asleep when the excitement – idiocy – managed to exhaust him.

Norway noted that did not actually fall asleep on his shoulder like he used to in the past.

He almost – _almost –_ missed having a faceful of spiky blonde hair for the remainder of the journey.

* * *

France opened the exactly 5 seconds after they'd rung the bell with a charming smile in place – the picture of a perfect host. After greeting them in the stereotypically French way by giving each of them flamboyant hugs and an equally flamboyant kiss on each cheek (Norway discreetly wiped his face with the back of his hand and the back of his hand on a hanging curtain when the other two weren't looking), he led them to the room where, he assured, all their marital problems would be solved faster than an _adventurous whore who rides a handsome young millionaire's manhood._

Only sheer diplomacy prevented Norway from rolling his eyes and leaving through the nearest bay window right then and there.

The room was well furnished and looked pretty much like almost any other of those therapists' rooms that you often saw on TV, albeit with expensive 19th century antique oak furniture and a large and disturbingly well detailed chart about the male and female reproductive organs, their stimulating spots, and the best ways to, ah, stimulate them taking up a major portion of the north wall.

Denmark wolf whistled and made a beeline for it, agreeing to sit down only after a very happy France let him take pictures on his iPhone.

Norway sat down beside Denmark – there was no other place anyway – while France took the large armchair opposite them. After staring at them somewhat leisurely for five minutes, he spoke:

'I understand you have been together a long time, yes?'

Denmark nodded sagely.

'How long, if I may ask?'

'Thirty six years,' Denmark answered as soon as Norway said, 'Thirty eight years.'

France raised his brows.

'Thirty eight,' Denmark corrected himself.

'Thirty six,' Norway conceded.

The two Nordic nations glanced at each other.

'A very long time,' they said simultaneously.

France scribbled something down on his generic counsellor's notepad.

'I see,' he said, looking up from the paper. 'So let's get down to business, my friends! You have applied for a two week long course to iron out the wrinkles in your otherwise beautiful union. Your counsellor, of course, shall be none other than the humble me, _le pays d'amour_, the country of love. In the days to come, I shall be asking you some questions which I would like to be answered as honestly as possible. Should you feel it is something that you cannot say in front of your spouse, or you feel that you want to discuss something you cannot discuss in front of your spouse, you may,' he gave a flirtatious wink here, 'approach me in private. You are free, no, _requested_ to call me at any time should even the tiniest need arise. Here is my number,' he handed them a gilded business card each, 'and as of now you are my topmost priority. Any questions?'

'What if, theoretically, I think that these…sessions are a waste of time?' Norway asked.

'Ah,' France smiled a creepy smile that reminded the Norwegian of a hawk – a blonde bearded hawk that was infamous for making something overrated as _true love_ win, no matter what the circumstances. _If you dare think so,_ the upward slant of those lips said, _I will destroy your pride because I know that you are a proud, proud man._ 'I am sure you won't think that!'

Maybe he was reading too much into things, but Norway decided to back down for the time being.

'I won't let him think that!' Denmark chirped from beside him.

'That's the spirit~!' France beamed. 'Now, from what I've observed, one of the main problems of your relationship is that both of you are rather introverted.'

Denmark chuckled while Norway looked at the mid-European nation like he'd grown an extra head.

'Introverted? Me?'

'Exactly. This idiot is too social for his own good.'

'I mean as a couple. You act as friends, very close friends, but not lovers. You do not put your relationship on display; a few stray kisses here and there but nothing intimate, nothing passionate. Everything takes place _a huis clos – _behind closed doors. Publicly, you're withdrawn. Submissive, even.'

It was, well, true and not true at the same time. Norway liked things to be private and quiet, and Denmark had a tendency to be immeasurably sweet only when no one was looking. Their relationship, or what it had been at any rate, was intimate and personal and just between the two of them. Not that there hadn't been any lusty groping under the desk when world meetings got too boring, or making out in someone's closet or bar/restaurant bathroom which more often than not led to sex, of course.

But that was in the past.

'Norway, I think your request for a divorce may simply be an act of passive aggression.'

Norway frowned. So what if it was? That didn't mean he wasn't serious about leaving Denmark; if anything, it gave him more reason to because his passive-aggressiveness was definitely said nation's fault. However, he did not like that he was already acquiring psychological labels.

'I do not judge you, of course,' France added graciously, having obviously seen the Norwegian's displeased face. 'I merely ask you to respect my opinions. Anyway, in view of this, I have some homework for you. From now on, I want you to tell Denmark exactly what you want – as blatant, embarrassing, irrational or impractical it may be for the either of you. I want you to tell him what you want him to do at every point of time and relevance, or irrelevance, for that matter.'

'Like…to eat his shoe.'

'Hey, that's not nice. Shoes aren't tasty!'

'You'll never know unless you try, yes?'

'Well maybe I did, you wouldn't kno-'

'He doesn't necessarily have to obey,' France interrupted with a smile. 'He just has to know. Our main objective here is to open the flow of communication. And Denmark, I need you to be more assertive. Don't shy away from responsibilities, be more involved, enthusiastic.'

There was a pause. Norway's lips twitched at the irony of the request.

'I…can do that, yeah.'

'And for both of you – I want you to be with each other every day. Take time out of your schedules, an hour at least, to see each other. And _communicate._'

Norway glanced out of the window at the well trimmed rose bushes that were blushing with tiny buds. What this guy was saying did make sense, but…

It was one thing for family members – the rest of the Nordic 5 (as Denmark called their dysfunctional family) – to offer unnecessary input, but another for friends, colleagues, _gossip mongers_…

Denmark didn't have a shred of propierity in him. He liked it when people affectionately called him _weird_ and _hyper_ and _immature_ and things like that, he revelled in attention. And Norway wasn't exactly super shy or agoraphobic; he just didn't want his marital problems to leak out, confidentiality agreement or no confidentiality agreement. He liked his privacy and he liked to maintain a separate public/business profile to protect said privacy.

In that way they were similar - they worked somewhat hard to maintain what other people thought of them by showing only one side of their personality to the outside world.

'Any questions?'

Denmark shook his head while Norway idly inspected his well kept fingernails.

'Excellent! Now, to wrap thing up, would you be so kind as to give each other a hug?'

'A hug.'

'Why yes of course! A hug! The most basic, the most primitive form of affection, the embrace of-'

Norway inwardly sighed and lifted his arms as Denmark granted him a quick hug.

France didn't look too pleased.

'_Mon dieu_…' He muttered, scratching something on his pad. '_Mes amis_, I think you need to go on a date.'

* * *

_A date_, Denmark thought, scanning the crowd for his soon-to-be-ex-if-he-didn't-do-anything-about-it husband. It was late, and while it would have been more convenient for both of them to go directly home, they had agreed to meet in front of the bar near the bridge. They had never dated _per se_, what with them being too close to go through the whole courting/wooing/other-shit-that-youngsters-these-d ays-did process, but apparently their therapist had thought it was a good idea to go on one, and he didn't exactly want to disobey the doctor's orders this early on.

That being said and done, he really did not actually _know_ how to treat Norway at this point in their relationship. What were they, friends, lovers, what? Could he just be as he was, or did he have to change himself so that Norway changed his mind? Was he allowed to make tasteless jokes? Yes, he had been asked to be more assertive, but what if he got too clingy?

Denmark gave a frustrated growl. He wished things weren't so fucking complicated and he wished that the fucking crowd would just fucking disappear.

He caught a glint of gold and a flash of purple, _a teasing smirk_, and he zeroed in on it.

'Norge,' Denmark greeted.

A small nod. 'What's for dinner?'

Denmark presented Norway with an apple which the latter carefully accepted. 'There's some leftover chicken from last night.'

They began their walk home. Both were tired and cab would have been quicker, but they were supposed to be on a date.

Denmark cautiously took Norway's hand in his.

'I'm being assertive,' he explained when the other tensed slightly.

'Jump off a cliff,' Norway murmured, relaxing into his hold.

Denmark did not reply.

'I'm trying to open the flow of communication,' he added. 'Do you not have a comeback?'

'Well…' Denmark intertwined their fingers, suddenly not feeling as frustrated as he had been any more. 'Can you give me like two minutes to come up with something awesome and mindblowing?'

So it wasn't exactly a stereotypical date, but it was a start.

Sort of.

**So Denmark has an iPhone. Apparently Apple products are all the rage in Denmark. owo**

**OMFG THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING AND REVIEWING AND FOLLOWING AND **_**FAVOURITING**_**, I MEAN WTF ALREADY I DON'T EVEN- THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

**Also to the anon reviewer who said:"in Norway, it is unlawful to get a divorce. lol, just thought you should know"**

**I would like to tell them that almost 20% of my Norwegian friends' parents have been divorced, and anyway, it goes against basic human rights to make divorce unlawful because you're literally forcing two people to stay together even though they'd rather move on/be happy with someone else. Also, if it was supposed to be an April Fools' troll (because they reviewed on the 1****st**** of April), better luck next time. ;D One simply **_**can**_**not troll the person whose favourite hobby is to pull stupid pranks on people, yes?**

**I've never written France before so some help would be appreciated. =w=**

**Reviews, feedback, constructive criticism and criticism which actually makes sense is the best weapon against writers' block! c:**

**Also, if you want France to make these two do something as an exercise (like, er, handcuffing them together or something), don't hesitate to let me know!**


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